RoughKut Rd. 5 Promo 1

A faint hum is heard behind a vial of darkness. Not a single ray of light is shed on the scene that stands placid and midnight black on the television screen. The hum continues as the screen begins to take on an organic movement. A movement as if the camera is packed away in a bag with the power switch knocked into the on position. A few moments pass and some muffling is heard from the distance. The situation now evident, that the camera is packed away out of sight and undercover. The muffled voices begin to get louder and louder until some of the words are distinguishable and recognizably Dominic Royce’s.

Royce: … Should not have… Every time we come here.

The words for the most part are still unclear but slowly they come closer and become easier to understand.

Royce: I told you this was a fluke deal. This should not have occurred. I knew as soon as I heard his parasitic voice there was going to be problems.

The light still could not penetrate the covering. What seemed to be a duffle bag, which seemed obvious from the initial gritty sound of the bag as it buckled to and from, had been stuffed with clothes in order to keep it as dark and sightless as could be attained. From the noise it was clear that the bag was being carried, roughly. But soon after a bang was heard as it was dropped down hard on a level object. The screen flickered a bit tempting to go directly in a snow foreground. However the signal held on and the camera proved its durability with the forceful touch it was currently being submitted to.

Royce: You grab his legs and I will grab his arms. Tie them around the chair over there and we will have a little fun with the little green bastard.

A man from a further distance answered but could not be understood.

Silence was held momentarily until another individual attempted to scream out, but the only resonance was a gargled reply and an abrupt silence.

Royce: If the little midget makes another sound knock his brains in. You got me.

His tone was forced and highly edgy. An irritation the likes of which he has not uttered was evident in the back of his throat.

Royce: All right, all right… you got that side down. Good, so is this one, now let us show the young man how things are done around here and what trouble his mouth can get him into. Take off his gag and let him give a few defending words.

Some rustling around was heard and some muffled words were spoken but far to low to be understood. After a moment, the boy must have garnered some bravery and began to speak.

Boy: “…I got something to tell you…”

The young vibrant but somewhat stammering voice seemed awfully familiar. Once the voice ended another faint buzzing sound then a click was heard but only for a second.

Royce: Continue…

Royce’s voice boomed with a stern and angered tone.

Boy: “Royce, you of all people should know that you should never underestimate me.”

This time the voice, still faint, was obvious to be that of Elf or at least someone who sounded a hell of a lot like him. But why and how could not be understood. The darkness still held a grasp upon the audience like the cold grip of the reaper on the throat of a man clinging to the edge of a cliff. The reasoning behind this situation baffles the listeners. And I say listeners because not a sight has yet to be seen.

Royce: You have some nerve little man, you believe I… Royce, underestimate you. I do judge you to be but a foul miscreant. However I do not in anyway underestimate you. On the contrary I know of your capabilities. There in lies my reasoning.

Another distant hum and the boy this time more boastful, speaks out attempting to gain dominance in an otherwise disadvantaged situation. He refers to Royce in third person talking away from Royce possibly to the other individual in the room.

Boy (Maybe Elf): “Dominic Royce says a lot of things, but I reckon he doesn’t think before he says them. I have shown some examples already. Maybe he has to consult his imaginary rabbit friend first before anything he says makes sense. Of course, saying that in itself seems like a contradiction…”

A quiet pause falls on the room. The same hum that has been heard time and time again is heard from the distance, faint but still irritatingly recognizable.

Boy (Maybe Elf): “…What sort of fool is glad that he is facing the guy that is undefeated against him, and who beat him twice?”

Quiet falls once again but is broken quickly by the hissing of Dominic Royce.

Royce: Do we forget so easily the circumstances within these matches you so illogically bring up, without even the slightest ounce of description. Hell I wasn’t there for one of the wins and my partner wasn’t there for the other. And even within that fluke of a match the amount of assistance that was needed in order to bring me down was sad in the least… it took two of you in one match to get in that lucky win. And honestly now that my memory hold true, it didn’t even come down to the two of you. Reminiscing, you had no hand in that round other than to wear me down as I proceeded to pound your head into the canvas. But this is not a tag team match dear Elf, this is singles competition. This is one on one, with no place to run.

Not a word is spoken once Royce finished. The deafening abyss gives a lasting impression of isolation. Soon the void is interrupted.

Royce: I see here that you have some bravery in that otherwise green spine of yours. You have no idea what kind of hell I can bring you. You have no idea what kind of torment that will be induced within that ring. That is if you even make it there on your own accord.

A dark cackling laugh echoes through the room. The echo shedding more information as to the room itself, the echo muffled and slowing returning only proves to be that of an industrial building. This large spacey structure now sounded like that of the many places Royce houses his various… how to put it tactfully… business related crops.

Royce: You have some NERVE, you little disrespectful child. You hide behind that mask day in and day out, only to crawl home with your tail between your legs. This, because of your fear of being discovered, uncovered, your secret identity blown.

Boy (Maybe Elf): “…Everyone is impressed with you Royce… “

Another hum and a click…

Boy (Maybe Elf): “…But then again…”

Another hum…

Boy (Maybe Elf): “…what have you got Royce?”

A fuming tone erupts from Royce as he retorts to this insignificant comment. The darkness covering the screen, disallowing the crowd the view, is beginning to grow heavy and the tension rises to the point of boiling. Suspense is in the air but there are no sights to see. Only the emotional sounds of this chaotic exchange of words.

Royce: You want to know what I have Elf?

Royce replies… his demeanor surprisingly calm. His ability to control emotion has reached a new level.

Royce: Dignity… the dignity and the self assurance that I can hold my head high at any turn of the corner. You on the other hand, once I am finished, will be trailing your dignity behind your path, like a bride’s trail on her wedding day. I will rub your face in your own self induced depression like a dog that had just pissed in the floor.

Hummm… sounds off again in the distance. The boy answers in a lowered tone, this time stammering and more choosing of his words, at least in the eyes of Royce.

Boy (Maybe Elf): “Man. I have really screwed up with this.”

Another booming laugh comes from the darkness as Royce enjoys this new found entertainment. A crack is heard and someone screams out. A war cry of sorts bellows out and footsteps are heard coming near, quickly and loud. All of a sudden a boom erupts and light peers in from the edge of the zipper trail. A massive bump to the table jostled the bag enough to release a few of the cloths in the bag and knock them to the sides shedding some light into view from the top. The zipper opens, slowly and only marginally. A bright ray of focused light peers in and catches the lens directly causing a minor sun flare across the screen blurring the picture but remaining still bright. Slowly but surely, the zipper opens up this time completely. A massive worked hand comes in and the camera is pulled out of the depths of the dark nothingness of the duffle bag.

Royce: Oh this is too much fun. Far too much fun…

The camera is mounted upon a shoulder and begins to pan around the room answering many questions and surprising the audience. The view is that of a dimly light industrial building just as the echoes let slip. The only signs of light seemed to be but only a couple overhead lamps, which hung high above the table in which the bag rested. The windows on the building showed it to be dark, almost midnight outside. The trees were rocking back and forth in the moderate gust of the wind, the possible cause of the odd humming and clicking.

Royce: Mario, Mario… spin around and focus the camera this way. I have a little something to admit and show to the poor naive fools watching around the world.

Royce continues to cackle that diabolical laugh that is all too familiar as his games are played out to the fullest. The camera pans around but falls upon no chair, no ropes, and most importantly no Elf. The confusion sets in until the view finally rests on that of Royce. He stands there half leaned on the table near the back wall, his hat in his hands and a cigarette in his mouth. He signals for the camera to zoom in closer. As the image comes nearer he holds up a black object in his hand. Closer… closer… and finally once in full focus the object proves to be a slim black digital recorder, it’s image completely encompassing the camera view. The scene begins to fade as Royce laughs uncontrollably, satisfied with another one of his little events. However, just before the screen fades away, Royce is heard spitting one final line. His voice harsh, his rhythm slow.

Royce: See you soon dear CWR brethren, I have got plans for you.

He continues to laugh until the connection is completely cut and the screen is once more cast into the bleakness of a disabled feed, this time the darkness of the view holds a far lighter grip than before.

FIN